


Home in the Flames

by Aeternum (SemperAeternumQue)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AO3 made me ship it, Angst, BackChannels, F/M, Hopeful Ending, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Michael makes a giant crater, Mild Sexual Content, Moon, Multi, My First Good Omens Fic, No beta we fall like Crowley, Oneshot, Polyamory, for once not inspired by tumblr or discord, gabriel actually being a good brother, gabriel being less of a dick, i feel this is important information, michael has literally never worked through her emotions in a healthy way, more angst did i mention angst, this started as crack I'm not sure what happened, weird things happen when semper gets sleep-deprived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperAeternumQue/pseuds/Aeternum
Summary: When Crowley killed Ligur using holy water, he unknowingly ripped one of the people Michael cared about most from her. After Crowley's failed execution, Hastur is left to pick up the pieces of a shattered angel, and just maybe, find his own healing.





	Home in the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo my first Good Omens fic and it's about an obscure ship that's basically a tiny raft right now...fun! Anyhow, the amazing MathConcepts wrote this series called BackChannels with this ship and I've been forcibly dragged aboard the cursed canoe that is the ship, so enjoy. (I feel it is important to note that this started as *crack* and look where we ended up. I'm just Like That.)
> 
> Also important to note is that I do not live in London and the last time I visited Britain was...6 years ago? I'm not even sure how long it's been. Anyhow, I know absolutely nothing about Britain apart from what I learned from Google, so please correct me if I get anything wrong.
> 
> As always, I live for feedback.

She holds it together well enough when she first hears of Ligur’s death. It helps that the person who tells her is an angel who means nothing to her, and it helps doubly that an opportunity for vengeance is swiftly presented.

The angel doesn’t know it of course, but when they ask Michael to bring holy water for the trial of the demon Crowley, it feels like revenge. Michael has always been a bit more vengeful than is perhaps quite virtuous, but she does not regret it as she brings holy water into Hell. She is ready for the execution of the demon who unknowingly dealt her the most pain she’s felt since watching her siblings fall.

As the trial proceeds and the lords of hell debate, Michael stares purposefully at anything but Hastur. She’s not sure she can face him after giving Ligur the information that sent him to his death. The logical part of her brain knows that she isn’t responsible for Ligur’s demise, but the illogical part of her brain is stronger than she would like.

Thankfully, she never has to face the demon she could have once called a friend, perhaps more, as the trial proceeds without incident. Without incident, until the traitor, Crowley steps into the tub and does not melt. In fact, he is perfectly fine, and Michael can only stare in awe as he asks for a towel and calls her ‘dude’, something she would ordinarily never tolerate. She can only stare in shock as he saunters out of Hell, this demon who killed HER demon.

Michael makes it up the stairs, even though her legs feel like giving out for perhaps the first time in her immortal life. She makes it through the lobby, past the few angels staring at the archangel with awe, and finally up into her office before collapsing into tears, shoulders shaking as she buries her face in her hands. Why did she ever give Ligur that information? Why did he have to go, why couldn’t they have sent someone else? Michael is no stranger to emotions-this would not be the first time she’s cried about one thing or another-but it has been a long, long time since she hurt this deeply.

She hears the distinct sound of her office door swinging open, and desperately hopes that it’s not one of her young angel interns. They look up to her so, and she doesn’t want to crush their image of her as the unshakable general of Heaven. Even worse would be one of the more gossipy minor angels. It would be very difficult to explain why the famous Archangel Michael is curled up in a ball on the floor of her office and harder yet to prevent the story from spreading.

Thankfully for Michael, it is not any of those people. In fact, it turns out to be Gabriel. “Michael?” The younger archangel’s voice floats through the office. He must notice her lying there because she feels him kneel on the ground in front of her. “Michael, are you okay?”

She looks up at his face and is suddenly struck by a surge of rage. Not rage at Gabriel. As awkward as he is, he tries to help. No, the object of her anger is the whole blasted ‘plan’. She is angry, so, so angry, at the world that can take away first her siblings, now her…companion. (Not love. She refuses to call whatever she and Ligur shared love.)

“I-need to go somewhere where I can’t hurt anyone,” She manages to choke out. Thankfully, Gabriel understands, despite his general lack of tact and social skills. He snatches her up, and they miracle to the moon, where there is only dust and rocks. Gabriel is hardly able to make it out of the blast radius before Michael unleashes her power. It roars across the empty surface, scarring everything it touches with the sheer force.

The crater she creates is larger than any currently existing, as Michael is no minor angel of insubstantial power. It feels good to destroy without repercussions for once, but when her rage has run its course, she collapses to the ground, suddenly unable to stay standing. When he returns from wherever he took shelter, Gabriel finds her curled into a ball in the center of a massive crater, clothes covered in moon dust and face stained with tears.

“Michael?”

She doesn’t respond, and Gabriel says nothing more, but she feels him lifting her up and a moment later, the twist of a miracle transporting them somewhere else. Michael is long past the point of caring, but her angelic instincts, honed from years of fighting, still innately absorb her surroundings. She is in an achingly familiar park on Earth.

It is the park where she used to meet Ligur.

Michael curls even closer to herself, drawing her wings more tightly around her balled figure. Everything hurts. She is physically exhausted from the blast of power she unleashed on the moon, and emotionally she feels like a wrung-out dishrag. So Michael retreats further into her ball of anguish and shuts out the world as best she can.

* * *

The next thing Michael is aware of is the familiar twist of space that accompanies an angel or demon miracling themself somewhere. This is followed by an even more familiar and heart-wrenching voice.

“What is it, angelic fucker?” Hastur.

A minute later, her sibling’s reply comes sharp and snobby. “Don’t talk to me so, vile demon.” His voice softens and lowers. “Michael needs your help.”

“Humph. Don’t see why you would ask me,” Hastur grumps, but a minute later his rough hand lands on Michael’s back with surprising gentleness. “You okay, wank-wings?” She lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob at the familiar nickname, and Hastur awkwardly wraps his arms around her. “It’s gonna be alright, wank-wings.”

To Gabriel, he says “Shoo. Git out of ‘ere. I’ll look after her.” Gabriel sighs before conceding. “If you hurt her, I will personally hunt you down, demon.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know the drill. Shoo.”

There is another twist of space, and Gabriel is gone. Michael looks up, emerging from her curled ball for the first time in what must have been hours, possibly days. “Hastur,” She chokes. “I-“

Hastur continues holding her tight. “Just be quiet, bloody angel.” She falls silent and lets the demon hold her. At some point, she feels him begin to shake as well, and tears stain her already ruined suit.

It would certainly be a peculiar sight for a mortal, an angel and a demon, locked in an embrace under an oak tree in the park. One is white-winged and covered in moondust, perfectly styled hair coming undone, and the other dark and murky-seeming, with his brown-grey wings and dirtied clothes. One angelic and bright, a soothing and kind presence, the other with a prickly and dark presence, sharp and threatening.

At this moment, they are both the least and most human that either of them ever is. The least human in their forms, with both of their wings fully extended and curled around the other, and their true forms threatening to fully break free. Michael glows with grace, and Hastur radiates hostility. Yet in spite of all this, they both seem very, very human, very tired and very broken, holding each other tightly as they cry for the one who used to unite them.

It is ironic, truly, that now that the one who tried so hard to bring them together is gone, they have pulled yet closer. Ligur’s death has brought them closer than his life ever could. It almost could be amusing, if it wasn’t so tragic.

There is long silence in the park as slowly darkness falls, neither of them pulling away. Were they humans, it would be somewhat different, but angels and demons have very little conception of time when on Earth. Earthly time works much different from Heavenly time or even Hellish time, and a few hours is nothing to a being who lives for more millennia then a human could ever comprehend.

Eventually, when their tears are all cried out, Hastur stands and gruffly offers Michael his hand. She does not need it, but she takes it anyway and Hastur helps her to her feet. Michael cannot return to Heaven with Hastur in tow, and Hastur cannot bring an angel into Hell, so they stand in a park and wait for something, although neither of them knows what.

Theoretically, each could return home to their respective places, but realistically, it’s not an option. Michael will not and cannot go back to Heaven without suffering an absolute breakdown, and Hastur wants to be there for her, no matter how little he would like to admit it. So he does what any self-respecting demon does at 1 AM in the morning in London with a semi-catatonic angel.

He goes to a pub.

The Polo Bar will be open for a while longer, so Hastur marches in and asks for a table. They sit, both still covered in a mix of moon dust, dirt, and dew. The waitress looks slightly askance at them, but she’s likely seen weirder in a London pub at 1 AM, so she takes their order tiredly and moves on to the next table.

They sit and eat fish and chips for a good hour. Well, Hastur eats (most demons do), and Michael occasionally tries a bite, but mainly sits in her usual silence.

Strangely enough, she is the one to break that silence. “How did you know to come to me?” As discerning as always, she gives him a questioning look.

Hastur clears his throat. “That little fucker, Gabriel-“

“My brother.”

“Yeah, your brother. He called me ‘an was like ‘I don’t know what’s going on or why Michael is breaking down, but I need you to come help her’. ‘An I was like ‘you’re an angel, why are you callin’ a demon to help ya?’. ‘An he goes ‘I can’t fathom why, for some reason, you mean something to her, and if you don’t come I’ll smite you’ and yadda yadda. So I came.”

Michael’s face has not changed in the slightest through all that, but Hastur can read the surprise in her eyes. He and Ligur couldn’t always understand Michael’s strange, silent language (few can), but over the many years they learned how. Ligur picked it up first, but by the time of Ligur’s death, both were able to hear the things that Michael didn’t say. At least, not with her voice.

Now, Hastur uses this to his advantage. Michael is concerned and somewhat confused as to how Gabriel knows of their relationship, but she seems to be taking the news well.

“I suppose he is not opposed to our…association, then,” she says.

“Association? Is that what we’re callin it?” Hastur asks, leaning towards the angel daringly. Michael’s face is stoic, but that only increases the tension as she asks “Do you have a better idea?” Her eyes challenge the demon. “I don’t see you coming up with anything of the sort-”

Hastur presses his lips to his in hers in an ages-old gesture of ‘be quiet’. The archangel takes his face in her hands and pulls him closer before her hands begin roaming further. Hastur breaks the kiss briefly to nip at her neck, and her nails dig into his sides as she tugs at his shirt.

To cut a long story short, that is how they get kicked out of a bar at 2:34 AM in the morning. The London air is crisp and clean as they readjest their clothing from where it was…shifted around a little. (Michael is still wearing Hastur’s scarf, as they had to scramble quickly back into some discarded garnments.) Both decide to sober up, surprising the pub staff with the sudden appearance of several bottles of alcohol.

“Where…where do we go from here?” Michael wants to know. It is not often that she sounds uncertain, but now she most certainly does, fiddling with Hastur’s scarf and regarding the demon with worried eyes.

Hastur sighs gruffly. “I dunno, but wherever we go, whatever we do, we do together, hey?”

Michael silently takes his hand.

“Together,” She agrees.

“Whatever may come, we will face it together.” It is not quite an oath, but it is something.

“Can I trust that promise?” Hastur asks. As it is well-known, angels do not lie, but they can and do make false promises.

“You can trust me,” Michael says. At first he thinks she’ll finish with her signature parting line, ‘I’m an angel’, but instead, she simply says,

“I’m Michael.”


End file.
